


Regret

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2015 [16]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Pining, Regret, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 17:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7650454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode 6x01: Kurt comes out of the bathroom at Scandals and confronts what is. What if Kurt tried to soldier on through that night? Awkwardness and disco ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret

_Well, that really couldn’t have gone worse, could it?_ Kurt struggled to his feet, wrung out, in the dingy bathroom at Scandals. God, had they changed the tiles since the ‘70s? Worse, had they _washed_ them? 

He was afraid to touch his clothes, the wall, anything. He crossed to the sinks and stared into his own eyes, still pooling tears. It was only seeing the rise and fall of the chest in his mirror image that let him see that he was gasping for breath. He went to lean on the sink, recoiled, then scrabbled for some paper towels, found the cleaning supplies in a grubby cabinet next to the sink, and washed the sink thoroughly. 

Perhaps too thoroughly. How long had he been in here? He leaned closer to the mirror and saw that the tears had dried on his face. Would Blaine think he’d snuck out? Was he going to? Was he such a coward that he couldn’t face up to the ruin that he’d wrought? 

No. He drew in deep breaths, let them out long, tried to get the poison out, to quiet the crowding thoughts (Dirty, Dirty, Unclean. Unfair. Unfit). Then he filled the sink with hot water, pulled one of his cleansers from his bag, and set about putting his face to rights. If he was going back out there to try to rescue the night and some semblance of his dignity, he was going to look damn good doing it. 

But when he opened the bathroom door, Blaine wasn’t sitting at the high table. The bar thumped with an old school disco beat, and Blaine was over on the dance floor, chatting with some men grouped around the old-fashioned jukebox. Instead, big Dave Karofsky stood next to the table, nervously flipping a beer mat over and over in his hand. _Great. This is a nightmare._ Dave looked up with a tight smile and gestured to Kurt’s abandoned seat. _C’mon, Hummel; you go to one of the best acting schools in the country. You can act—delighted? Disinterested? At least not homicidal?—at the thought of the great love of your life dating your high school bully._ His answering smile was just as tight. 

Dave looked relieved as Kurt approached. “Can I get you another drink?” 

He wanted to decline, but his throat was so sore that he said yes—“It was a gin and tonic.” 

“Good man, Kurt. You have to keep the drinks simple here,” Dave said, squeezing his shoulders as he passed behind him. _Your high school bully who ended up having a crush on you that led to…. Oh, God, his world was just too small._

He sank down into the seat, resigned to his embarrassment, but determined to be, well, adult about all of this. _You Should Be Dancing_ came up through the speakers, and Blaine’s grin could have lightened the heart of a man on death row. It worked on Kurt; he smiled fondly as Blaine assembled the crew around him, including a tall scarecrow of a guy wearing what looked like vintage Halston drag. Blaine noticed; he paused to nod at Kurt, his eyes soft, then went back to his task of herding cats. 

David slid into the seat next to him with a fresh beer and glanced at the dance floor, where Blaine and his Halston friend were trying to choreograph amid much laughter. “Seems like we’ve been here before,” he commented. To Kurt’s raised eyebrow, he said, “Sitting one out at Scandals while twinkletoes over there does his stuff.” 

“I thought Blaine ran into you on the dance floor.” 

“Yeah, country line dancing, not all this.” 

“At least Sebastian Smythe isn’t sniffing around tonight, unless he’s taken to wearing dresses.” 

“That’s just Andrew. He’s crazy about disco, always on about nights at Studio 54. I don’t know that he ever left Ohio, but Blaine is, you know, kind to him about it.” The admiration in his voice was inescapable. _Well, Blaine did have that effect on people. Why should Karofsky be immune to it?_

“And Blaine gets to show off his moves. Does he still do the toe touch?” 

“What? Like a cheerleader? Blaine?” 

“I forget you weren’t in McKinley senior year.” _Yeah, good idea, Kurt. Remind the guy of the worst year of his life. Like this wasn’t awkward enough._ “Mr. Schu and his great ideas—Disco week. Of course, the dancers in the group were all in: Mike Chang and Blaine—and Brittany Pierce, too. You remember her? This was the song they used to try to convince the rest of us.” 

“Did it work?” 

“Nah. We sat in the audience booing and yelling Disco sucks.” 

“That’s the good old McKinley spirit,” Dave said, and actually raised his glass to clink against Kurt’s. Damn, he’d forgotten that he kind of liked the big guy last time they’d hung out. Karofsky just tried so damn hard. 

“That’s pretty much what happened here, too,” Dave continued, “when Blaine and Andrew first started talking about Disco Tuesdays. But, well, here we are.” 

Kurt shook his head. _Here they were indeed._ “Well, Mr. Schu never much cared what we thought either way. And how do you say no to those three? Mike was the nicest guy in the world. And the other two—Santana used to call them the Sunshine Twins. 

“Anyway, we ended up having a lot of fun that week. And I learned the Hustle, a skill that maybe someday will serve me well? Man, that’s something I regret: that I never bothered to find a club in New York playing that stuff. Blaine would have had fun.” 

“I guess he didn’t feel much like dancing there at the end,” Dave said quietly, his eyes on the table. 

Kurt sat back and crossed his arms. He knew he shouldn’t have brought up their life in New York. “What did he tell you? Because those fights weren’t ALL me.” 

Dave looked up, confused. “I don’t mean fights—every couple fights, Kurt. I mean the depression.” 

“What?” He looked between a laughing Blaine and Dave. Even as he spoke, he recalled cryptic messages from Tina—that he ignored; Tina of all people was NOT going to lecture him about Blaine—and Rachel’s hesitance about this very meeting. “He was just—stressed. The competition at NYADA, and that weird Dolloway woman, and planning…” 

Dave’s smile was sad. “You know what I mean. Blaine, he—what’s the word—he _externalizes_ his feelings, but that doesn’t mean he tells you what’s going on. And maybe—maybe it was hard for you to see the changes because they happened day to day?” 

_Where did he get off being an expert on Blaine? Was he trying to show me up?_ He started to scoff, but Dave’s sincerity wasn’t to be doubted. 

He recalled then those dark times last winter, when Blaine seemed so disorganized, unable to finish any task, eating nothing but junk food, sleeping all day. But he’d somehow gotten his work done then, or at least Kurt thought he had. And then Christmas he was himself again—a little rushed, but Santana was around for a few weeks, and that helped? And then the spring, and Blaine had been enthusiastic, full of wedding plans, wanting to go out nightly with friends. He’d exhausted Kurt, which led to fights, and then the broken engagement, and then… 

Dave sat sipping his beer. When Kurt reached his hand up to wipe at his leaking eyes, he reached out and laid his hand on Kurt’s arm. He spoke softly. “He’s okay now, Kurt. He’s seeing this great doc. I—I shouldn’t have brought it up. Jeez, I thought you knew.” 

“We thought all the answers were in New York—me and Blaine and Rachel. Santana too. We dragged everyone else into it too: Sam and…” His voice broke on the name, “Finn. But damn, Dave: New York, a performing career, it’s HARD. And me…I’m not so easy either.” 

“We’re all just figuring it out, Kurt. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” 

“No. I should be. That’s just it. You know what growing up is, Dave? It’s when you own up to the times you were an ass, and stop making excuses for yourself. You should know: you did it years ago. I’ve just been so busy fighting…” He trailed off and looked away. A therapy session is the _last_ thing he needed tonight. 

Before Dave could respond, Blaine bounced over to the table. “God, that’s so fun. But I am not dancing the Hustle with Andrew. He got me last week with those heels, and my instep is still recovering.” He took a gulp of the cold water Dave passed to him, and said, “So, how’s it going? You guys been catching up?” 

Kurt looked guiltily at Dave, watched Blaine watching them, his careful look belying his easy words. 

“Mostly we’ve been talking about disco,” Dave said, grinning. 

“You should totally come out and dance with me. It’s your last chance until after hockey season, you know.” 

“It’s a tragedy, I know, but you’re not going to haul me out there, babe.” 

“Oh, come on. I could even get you an outfit. Couldn’t you just see him in a lovely plaid polyester, Kurt?” Blaine said, teasing, resting his hand easily on Dave’s forearm. 

He hoped his own smile looked more relaxed than it was. He knew he could barely look away from that hand. He sat up straighter. “There’s the REAL tragedy of disco. Plaid polyester,” and he shivered. Blaine relaxed visibly. And Kurt hated that he could see that so clearly, that he DID know this man so well. 

He had come home to Ohio thinking that the Blaine he would find was that boy who had proposed to him on the staircase at Dalton. And that it would be like then, he’d open his arms and Blaine would come running, throwing himself headlong into their mess of a relationship again. Instead he got—this. A Blaine who was noticeably stronger and also noticeably fond of his bear of a boyfriend. It was probably a good thing for Blaine—and maybe even for Dave. Christ, Kurt hadn’t given the big guy a thought for years. 

Dave stood to get a new beer and asked if Kurt wanted a refill. He took the opportunity to look at his watch. “I’d love another, but Rachel’s planning on working me pretty hard tomorrow, and EARLY too.” He slipped off his chair, then, taking his courage into his hand, he gestured to the dance floor, and said, “But maybe before I go, we can see if I still remember how to Hustle. I promise not to drop you when I dip. Do they have _More than a Woman_ on that jukebox?” 

Blaine met the challenge in his eyes, his chin high, but his eyes soft and wistful. “Yeah, yeah. We can do that.” 

They punched in the song on the jukebox, and Dave called out, “Let’s let the professionals do it, gentlemen!” They took their places, Kurt standing behind Blaine, his hand trembling on Blaine’s waist. As Barry Gibbs’ falsetto filled the dark bar, they found their steps. And if he bit his lip in concentration as he spun Blaine into the dip, well, he was out of practice. There were whoops all around the first time they succeeded, and Dave put his fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle. Blaine’s eyes were shining, and—was he _proud_ of Kurt? It certainly looked like it. 

When the song came to an end, Blaine carefully pulled him into a hug, then said, “You know what I was remembering while we danced? How good Finn’s falsetto sounded that week.” 

Kurt blinked at him, not sure how to respond. 

“It’s just—there are no guarantees in life, are there? We just have to keep making good choices, every day, for THAT day, you know what I mean?” 

God, he wanted to kiss the big-hearted idiot. But that wasn’t what this night was about, after all, was it? He made his goodbyes to the two men, accepted the cheers and backslapping by the older guys in the crowd, and made his escape. He sat in his car in the darkened parking lot, listening to the sounds of the small-town traffic and the thump of the bass starting up again through the open door of the bar. 

He didn’t know why he was here—in Ohio, in this parking lot, hell, in the whole entire world. He let himself ache for Blaine, for the remembered feel of his sweet body in his arms, for those eyes and hands and that mouth. _Well, Hummel,_ he thought, _time to figure out what those good choices are right now._ One thing he knew, though. He might regret many things in his life—strange metaphorical wardrobe choices, snarky comments that crossed the line—but he knew he would never regret loving this wounded man, his brave, generous, warm-hearted diva.

**Author's Note:**

> Set in my own version of season 5/6, where they managed to make it through most of a school year alone in the loft before it all fell apart. I just can't make the real timeline work for me.  
> Oh, and it goes without saying, the character's views are their own. I'm gonna let Kurt beat himself up a little bit here; I think that's sort of canon, anyway.


End file.
